


dark red

by rottenstrawberrymilk



Series: eddie gluskin one shots [2]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, F/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, NSFW, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Outlast: Whistleblower, Physical Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:15:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22887685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rottenstrawberrymilk/pseuds/rottenstrawberrymilk
Summary: eddie gluskin x reader one shots nsfw
Relationships: Eddie Gluskin/Reader, Eddie Gluskin/You
Series: eddie gluskin one shots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661416
Comments: 2
Kudos: 103





	1. bunny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -underage drinking  
> -underage reader  
> -very close to smut doesnt go all the way however implied

"Come on...just do it. Don't be a pussy, (Y/N)."

It was Halloween, and while kids were trick-or-treating, the teens were doing stupid dumbass teen things. At the moment, you wished you were still one of those kids, mostly because your feet were killing you from having to walk like eight billion miles in black stilettos and fishnets that never seemed to stop catching on branches and bushes you passed by. You found the other reason when you gazed upon the abandoned asylum you'd decided to break into with your friends not more than four hours ago. It was huge, dark, and terrifying. 

It was obvious to you now, as you crouched around the small, narrow entrance into the establishment, created with time and neglect, that your friends really didn't want to go forward with the "break-into-the-asylum-and-then-brag-about-it-later" plan. It was cold out and the black, thin spandex clinging to your body wasn't doing you much of a favor. You shouldn't have agreed to go as a Playboy bunny with your friends. But goddamn if all of you didn't look hella cute at first. You reached up and picked a dead leaf off the rabbit ears atop your head. 

"Are you gonna pussy out, (Y/N)? It was _your_ idea!" 

"No, I'm not gonna pussy out," you shot back defiantly. "I'm just tryna figure out if I can fit through the space. Hold my fucking shoes." You kicked off your stiletto heels towards one of your companions. Your words were slurred slightly. Obviously you had no intention of breaking into this nightmare of a building sober. 

Eventually, after a silent pep talk, you got down on your knees and crawled through the narrow space. For a moment, you panicked when your hips became stuck, but a rough shove from one of your friends helped you out (even though you yelled at her for it). You managed to come out mostly unharmed, not counting the red marks developing on your hips from scraping past rock. 

"Remember! You have to stay in there for twenty minutes! Otherwise you're a pussy ass CLOWN!" one of your friends shouted over the wall.

"Make it thirty minutes," you yelled back.

Your friends were mad stupid. But you were stupider. 

You were also pretty sure they were gonna look at you like the coolest motherfucker alive once you came back out completely unharmed. You fixed the ears on your head again, which had been knocked around a little bit by the narrow passageway you dragged yourself through. You stood back up onto your feet, relieved to feel cool stone beneath them rather than spiky pine needles and dirt. It took you a minute to figure out where you wanted to get to, considering you couldn't make up your goddamn spinning mind. 

Eventually, by moonlight and lots of flailing your arms around to figure out where things were, you made your way into a building. The door was locked at first but that was okay because after you jiggled the handle around a lot, the lock broke. You found it odd that the lock was on the outside of the door and there was no handle on the inside. You didn't have much time to dote on it considering every other sense you had was completely overwhelmed the minute the door closed behind you.

First of all it smelled like fucking hell. Shit, piss, vomit, blood, you name it, that smell was in the concoction somewhere. You had to fight to not gag. You put a bent hand over your mouth and let your gaze drop to the floor as you leaned against a wall. You suppressed at least three dry heaves.

_Bruh if I throw up, it's gonna smear my lipstick._

The wall didn't feel any better than the place smelled. It seemed to be sticky and crusty all at the same time? You were twisted between yanking your hand away quickly and toughing it out so you didn't collapse. Disgust thrummed through you. You expected blood curling screams to start any minute just to top off the whole lovely experience. But that was the worst part. There were no sounds. Just you, in the dark, breathing heavily between curved fingers. Did you dare to turn on your phone flashlight and get a good look at the place around you?

Eventually, you couldn't stand being in the dark unmoving anymore. You had to find somewhere with a window...and a door that actually had a handle. It hadn't occurred to you that you were now trapped in here until you found another exit until just then. Your only regret was not bringing a bottle of tequila with you to dull your senses and the slow panic that was beginning to sober you. Dammit! The whole point of coming in drunk was to help with your nerves and now it was starting to wear off.

You doubted you could actually make it in here for thirty minutes. You decided that like three minutes was good enough. It was time to just find a way out. 

You reached into your bra and pulled out your phone, warm from your body heat against it. With slightly shaking hands, you turned up the flashlight. Oh you were sure you were going to vomit for real this time. The floorboards and the wall was literally caked with blood. Was that a bone shard sticking out from between the wood? You weren't sure and you didn't care to find out. You shut your eyes again for another few moments. 

_Just gotta go. Gotta get out._

You began walking forwards quickly, your main goal set in stone in your mind. For a moment, you wished you had brought your shoes in with you. Did you want to walk around in four inch heels in this murder house? No. Was it better than walking around barefoot in dried blood and other nasty things you didn't want to identify? Yes. Significantly better.

Goosebumps began to appear among your skin the more you moved forwards. You felt like something was coming. Something bad. The silence didn't help. You wished you had made your friends come in with you. They were probably sitting outside the wall laughing on their phones, watching the clock. You wondered if there was any service in the building. A quick glance told you there wasn't, and you had to say you didn't really have your hopes up in the first place. You forced yourself to feel bitter, prideful relief.

_Well now I can't text them and be like 'guys im terrified please come get me',_ you thought to yourself. God they'd probably change that to the name of your group chat for months and tease you mercilessly. You weren't ready for that kind of punishment. Fuck. You were making them buy you way more beer once you got out of here. 

A sharp crack echoed. You froze. Your heart began to pound. You found that you suddenly preferred the silence. Quite literally, fuck that noise. You picked up the pace. Maybe it was just an old floorboard finally succumbing to age and neglect and wood rot. Maybe not. Who knew? Not you, that's for sure! And you didn't intend on sticking around to find out. It was much easier to force back gags the more used you got to stepping in wet spots of whatever. Bonus, you were also getting used to the rancid smell!

A door suddenly opened alongside the hallway. A limping, dragging figure came out. A scream erupted from you and you punched whatever it was square in the face, knocking it on its ass. Pure adrenaline pumped through you and the alcoholic haze that had been breezing about your mind vanished quite quickly. Whatever it was (a man? some horribly mutilated looking man?) shrieked so damn loud. You bolted. As you continued on, your knuckles began to sting. Eventually, when you began to slow down again and the screams faded, you flashed your phone down at your knuckles. Bite marks? Yuck. Were you gonna get rabies? Or AIDs? It wouldn't surprise you if you did--purely from the glimpses you got of the diseased looking corpse of a creature that you'd beaten down. 

The hallway eventually came to and end. No door. There was a staircase leading down, however. Maybe there was a service elevator? You shined your flashlight up. Yeah, it looked like at some point there had been stairs leading up, but they'd long collapsed. But there still had to be a way up. That's how it was in the movies, right? 

So, taking a deep breath, you began the descent down. You found yourself stopping once you heard soft muttering. You couldn't make out the words. Fear grabbed hold of you once again. The stairs creaked under your feet, which you figured meant that you had to get your fat ass moving before they could collapse too. The blood began to pound in your ears as you picked up the pace, starting to skip several stairs at a time. 

"Idiot. Little idiot."

Those were the only words you were able to catch from the endless muttering before it devolved into incoherency yet again. 

"I already _know_ that," you called out. The mumbling was silenced. A sense of dread filled you. Silence again. God, you wished you could have picked between which you hated more--silence or unnerving noise of (what you realized were) inmates that hadn't died off yet. They were both equally hateful, you eventually decided on. 

You realized very quickly that you were definitely beginning to attract attention. The more you pushed on with that bright ass flashlight through the dark corridors, the more close calls you had with inmates. From the glimpses you caught of them, they were all very much naked and mutilated. They terrified you and for most of the time you were in denial, trying to figure out if this was some sick joke your friends had set up. But these men didn't look dressed up. They looked and smelled real. When they managed to reach for you--sometimes even grab you--their overgrown, dirty nails felt very real in your flesh. Denial was better, you decided. 

_Let's keep pretending I'm in a haunted house._

But your legs were getting sore and your knuckles were turning different shades and your situation grew more desperate. The strange monsters were no longer backing off or shrinking back into the shadows when you threw them off. They were whispering to you. Then they were yelling. They were following you. Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes. All you could do was pick up the pace. But soon there was no where to go. No where to keep moving to. 

You were forced to stop at a locked set of double doors. You jiggled on them. Once. Twice. Thrice. The tears began to fall. How long had it been? It didn't even cross your mind to check your phone as you backed into the corner, shivering harder and harder. Maybe you could hide if you couldn't run. You reached to turn off the flashlight on your phone. But, your hands were shaking so badly the phone fell from your cold grip. The screen was cracked when you picked it back up, but you still managed to extinguish the light.

_My mom's gonna fucking kill me,_ you found yourself thinking as you pressed yourself further into the dark corner. 

Your eyes began to get used to the dimness to the point where you could make out the figures coming towards you. Were they laughing? What were they doing? What had you done to deserve this? How many of them were there? Five? Six? Seven? Were more coming? Your heart wouldn't stop beating and your blood wouldn't stop pounding in your ears. You couldn't fucking think straight. Why couldn't you fucking think right now? You needed to.

_Stupid idiot dummy dumb stupid head what the hell is_ wrong _with me? I shoulda just pussied the fuck out fuck this, fuck this shit, fuck this fucking noise what the fuck-_

You were crying now, a hand clasped over your mouth in a desperate attempt to keep quiet. All the sudden, not smudging your lipstick and eyeliner didn't cross your mind anymore. You just wanted them to forget you were there. You wanted them to go away. Cold, rough, raw hands suddenly grabbed at your throat. 

"Get away! Fuck off! **FUCK _OFF!_** " you hollered tearfully, not bothering to be silent for any longer. You were a fucking idiot to think that they wouldn't realize where you were. 

"Whore," said the mutilated man, his grip tightening at your neck as the others began to jeer and clamber to get to your body as well. "Little fucking _whore_." He wouldn't stop hissing to you, bringing you closer and closer to him. A sob escaped you as you grabbed at his hands, trying to pry his skinny fingers off your throat. The other hands were still grabbing at you, each wanting a piece. 

And all the sudden, the double doors opened. Almost instantly, the other inmates let out howls of fear and began to retreat. You could hear a man singing. What the fuck was he singing? You couldn't hear anymore. It was all just static. The creature that had grabbed you wasn't letting go--in fact, he was dragging you along with him. You struggled and thrashed in his grip, trying to dig your heels in the floor. You screamed out once more. You could feel the sheer vibrations from the sudden thud of bodies. 

You glimpsed the figure of a broad shouldered man. He was beating one of the monstrosities into the fucking ground. 

"Run," he was shouting about the same time your hearing was starting to come back. "Just like all the other ungrateful **sluts**!" His hollers filled your ears. At the man's scalding threats, whatever inmate had you in his grip had immediately decided you weren't worth the extra weight. He let go and sweet air rushed back into your lungs as you sat upon the wood floor, coughing. 

You crawled away from the action, back to the corner, shaking violently. Was now a good time to throw up? Probably not. The man was standing, breathing heavy over three of the inmates. They, however weren't moving. Fresh blood dripped from his hands. And he turned upon you. Did he think you were one of them? You weren't sure as he began to stride towards you. 

From what you could make out in the dimness, he seemed to be wearing a decent amount of clothes. He didn't look like the other mutilated men. He was much larger, with thick black hair, smoothed neatly back atop his head. Whereas the others seemed featureless--like mere shades--he was striking, with a prominent brow and a nose that hadn't been chewed off. There were horrible marks upon his face, much like the other inmates, which quickly reminded you that he was still one of them, no matter what clothes he happened to be wearing upon his larger body. The man in the stitched suit raised a bloodied hand, looking as though he was going to certainly bring it down upon you with as much brute force as the others.

"Please," you gasped out, holding up an arm over your face in a pitiful attempt to stop him. "Please, don't!" Your voice was trembling so bad you weren't even sure if your words were understandable. Your brows knotted as you closed your eyes tightly, waiting for him to strike you again and again until you were dead on the floor like the other inmates unfortunate enough to get in this monster's way. 

But the blow never came. 

"Well, hello there..."

You opened your eyes, peering out from under your still raised, shaking arm. His voice was deep and clear. So unlike the ragged, hoarse whispering and snarling you'd been subject to so far.

”Well isn’t that something?” came his voice again.

Slowly, you lowered you arm. He was inches away from you now, staring down at you. He had very intense blue eyes. There was a sort of hunger in them that made you scared all over again.

”What are you doing all dressed up like that for me, bunny? How tasteless.”

”W-wha-“ you began to stand up as he hushed you. He was much too close for comfort. You went to move away from him, but he suddenly struck both of his arms out against the wall, caging you into corner.

”Now darling, don’t play dumb. You’ve been running along in the halls like this, too, hm?” He shook his head, leaning in closer. He had a strange sort of musk to him. “How indecent. How whorish of you. I will not tolerate such behavior in our future, darling.” 

“Who are you? What the hell are you talking about?” you sputtered out.   
  
He seemed...hurt by your words. But you couldn’t ignore the anger and frustration in his eyes that seemed to appear right after. He closed in even more on you, his nose inches from yours.

”Oh my darling, did those nasty men choke the common sense out of you? How could you not recognize your future husband, your Eddie?”   
  
You wished you were drunk right now. 

Eddie seemed to become even more frustrated at the blank look on your face, still tense with shock. How could he get angry at you for not recognizing him? You hadn’t seen him ever! 

“It’s no matter,” Eddie said through gritted teeth. He forced a smile, his eyes half lidded as he peered at you intensely. Why were his sclera so bloody and red? “Come along now.” It was less of an offer and more of a command. His hand suddenly went to your face, grasping at your skin.

”No,” you suddenly cried out. You shrugged away from his hand and went to bolt away from him—through the new opening he’d made. “Don’t you dare touch me!”

Obviously your words did not stop him. He grabbed onto you, easily pulling you over his shoulder. He ignored your struggles. You stiffened against him went you felt his hand shift to your ass and hold you even tighter. Eddie clicked his tongue as he began to walk back into the double doors.

”How indecent,” he said. “You still have yet to explain to me why you’re dressed like a little slut, missy. A wife’s body should be meant for her husband’s viewing only.” He bumped his shoulder a little, in somewhat of a playful manner, carrying you with it. You inhaled sharply. “Not that I don’t mind the view, of course darling. But, you I will be dressing you much differently for your own good.”

How was it that this man was lecturing you about decency as his hand groped at your ass and your thigh slowly. You had flinched every single time, but stopped struggling after coming to understand that it was all in vain.   
  
Eddie eventually did set you down again in a brighter lit place. It seemed to be some semblance of a bed room. You nails dug into the mattress Eddie had put you upon. You could see him better now. Your heart dropped. He looked like he was thirty years older than you. Eddie smiled down at you, looking pleased despite her scolding about your “whorish” appearance before. You had to say that you were fucking terrified as he began to shove you back onto the mattress. The man put a loving hand against your side, tracing it up the thin, black fabric clinging to your skin and up to your chest. His fingers squeezed you slightly and you jerked away from him, tears appearing in your eyes.

”N-no!” you cried out. “Let me go, let me-“ you words were blurred as he grabbed you once again and pushed his rough lips against yours. You broke the kiss by sharply jerking your head to the side.

”Darling-“ Eddie began firmly, putting a still bloody hand to your cheek. 

“You can’t! You can’t do this!” you cried out. “I’m only seventeen! I’m not legal and the police will lock your ass up you sick fuck!” Your cried had turned into angry shouts as you attempted to push his larger body off yours.

Eddie didn’t react. He simply smiled at you, looking even more infatuated. There was still a rash flash of anger in his eyes that you had just barely caught. Heavy breaths came from your lips as he clicked his tongue.

”You’re fiery, aren’t you, darling? I understand that you must still be so frightened after those disgusting, pitiful excuses of men touched you...” He gripped your arm tightly. “Only I’m allowed to touch you now, understand, my lovely little girl? And you are my wife. I will not have you speak to me like that again. Understood?”

You struggle beneath him. “Let me go, you fucking freak! You goddamn psycho! You-“ you were cut off as he suddenly smacked you, hard. The tears fell from your eyes finally.   


“I told you not to speak to me like that, whore,” Eddie thundered. “Now lay the fuck still. Struggle and I’ll squeeze the life from you.” His threats were clearly not empty. His bloody hand slid from your cheek and to your neck, giving it another squeeze over the bruises that were already beginning to form. A weak choke escaped you.

You nodded your head the best you could, wanting only your dear life now. You couldn’t stop shaking as his hand went back to your cheek and he gave you a slow, tender kiss once more.

His large, scarred hands went to the neckline of your skintight one piece. He began to pull it down, stripping it away from your body, letting your skin adjust to the cold air quickly. He worked his fingers beneath the fishnets and let out a bit of a chuckle as he rubbed your thighs, slowly and teasingly. 

”That feels so much nicer, doesn’t it, bunny?” he asked you, clearly not wanting your answer. “Now I think it’s time we start working on the family we’ve always dreamed of. Ever since you married me, darling...that’s all you’ve wanted. And don’t you worry.” He tapped your nose gently, ignoring your flinch. “I want it too, just as badly.”

He was beyond deranged. He was beyond delusional. Eddie’s hand went down to his pants and you could hear his zipper coming down. Your heart pounded in your chest.

  
God you regretted all of this.


	2. no.no.no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -attempted abortion  
> -miscarriage   
> -mentioned/implied physical abuse

It'd been a few months now. At least that's what you thought. That's what the marks scored on the wall by desperate, shaking nails was telling you. A mark for every time you slept, dreamed, and awoke. At some point you'd accidentally marked naps or maybe even long periods of unconsciousness as the passing of night, but that didn't really matter to you. Keeping track of the passing time, however pitiful and aching, let you hold on to something, _anything_ , that wasn't _him_. 

Who were you without Eddie Gluskin? The man who'd trapped you in his delusion, the rosy 50's homelife that only he seemed to be able to see. Nothing was about you anymore. There was nothing to dote on anyhow. Eddie Gluskin didn't even know your name. He'd destroyed you. He'd torn you down to nothing and he was never going to stop. He shoved you into the size-too-small shoes of a dainty housewife he loved beyond anything else. And no matter how hard you tried to hang on, you were slipping and becoming just that. 

He thought you were going to help him make his family. He thought you were obsessed with him, just as he was with you. He let you know that often.

_"Darling, I love you."_

_"Oh how have I lived without your touch all those years before, darling?"_

_"I need you, darling. Just like you need me, right? Right?"_

_Darling this, darling that--why won't he stop calling me darling? I want it to stop. I want it to stop._

Maybe the worst part of all was that he was finally coming close to getting that family he wanted. He had spent so many restless nights, shoving you into the mattress, restraining your arms so you couldn't get away from him, as he kissed along your neck and thundered a mixture of threats and praise into your pounding ears. The bruises he left on you, on your wrists, on your throat, on your hips, never went away, because he just refreshed them the next night all over again. It was Hell on repeat. 

It broke your heart when you started to display the symptoms you so heavily dreaded. The ones that indicated that Eddie's family was coming closer and closer to becoming real. Something born of delusion shouldn't be made into reality. The child of the man who had held you tight in his arms as you struggled and gasped for air didn't deserve to be born. 

After a long while of laying in bed, those very thoughts repeating again and again in your head, tinged with thick layers of denial, you got up. Eddie was sound asleep on the other side of the bed. You passed by the door. You knew it was locked. But that's not where you were going anyways. You'd learned your lesson time and time again when he'd caught you trying to break out. A slight shiver ran over you. It was during those early days when Eddie established himself as the brute of a monster he was. When you came near that fucking door you could still feel the sting of his hand across your face, the roar of his voice, raspy with wrath, in your ear. 

No. You couldn't escape this fucking room. 

But Eddie had enough mercy and decency to allow you to use the bathroom when you pleased, and most importantly, alone. It was a privilege you ended up earning after your first month in his household. You didn't bother closing the door to the bathroom as you flicked the dim lights on. You knew it pissed him off when you did that. 

Harshly, your hands came down upon the bathroom counter, the sink positioned between them. You stared down at your hands for a few, long moments. This was the part you'd expected to find bruises on your knuckles and broken nails and broken blood vessels and dirtied nails. But no. Your hands looked the same as they had the day Eddie had forced you into that white fucking dress. They were flawless. He took it upon himself to "coddle" you like that. To make sure your were clean the way he liked it. Jesus fuck there wasn't even a tangle in your hair... He claimed it was his job to take care of you. That statement had been enough to discourage you from taking care of yourself completely out of spite within your first few weeks with him, trapped in his house. But it had backfired. He just seemed more pleased about how much more he got to touch you and control every aspect of you. 

Your fingers curled against the porcelain counter. And you remembered again where you were in the present day. What was happening to you. 

Wary (E/C) eyes looked slowly up to the unhappy, miserable, albeit perfect reflection in the mirror. Tears gathered in them.

You were fucking pregnant.

The shame was beyond anything you had actually expected. Now that you were looking upon your face--the face belonging to Eddie Gluskin's wife, you realized--your expression fell even more. Oh God. Oh fucking God. Your breathing hitched in your throat and you looked away sharply. 

This couldn't happen. You wouldn't let this fucking happen. No. No. No. 

You turned away quickly from the bathroom mirror. No. No. No.

With a contrasting, unusual quiet, you stormed back into the bedroom. There it was. Hanging off the bed. It was a narrow, metal pole, slightly rusted. You knew it because Eddie had once yanked it right out of the bed frame and raised it in an attempt to beat you the first night you wouldn't let him have his way with you. You remembered the feeling of it pushed suffocatingly against your throat to keep your head down into the pillow as he-

_No. No. No. No._

Your breathing had quickened. You reached for it and easily pried it back out from the place it never quite fit back into correctly. The end was a horrible kind of sharp. Twisted up into a point. It scared you just looking at it. It was a totem of his power in a way--literally and figuratively. Even touching it left you nauseous. But you didn't care. You'd do anything.

Anything. 

By now, you couldn't hear anything. You turned your head back to the bathroom, a beacon of flickering light. Without even thinking, you paced back towards it. 

"Darling?" came Eddie's voice from the bed, suddenly and groggy. 

You didn't even acknowledge him as you went into the bathroom. You could hear him throwing off the covers--his feet hitting the floor soon after. Had he seen what was in your hand? Didn't matter now. You slammed the door shut and turned the lock on it. He probably should have removed that lock ages ago. It was kind of on him to not see this coming, to be honest. 

You hesitated for just a moment to look at yourself again in that mirror, breathing heavily, that narrow metal rod clenched firmly in your hands. No. No. No.

Eddie had been knocking gently before, but he was now banging his fists against the wood. It cracked under his hands. The door handle rattled frantically. " **Open the fucking door, right now, right _fucking_** **now!** " he shouted through it. You couldn't hear yourself think between his hellish hollering and the pounding of blood in your ears.

Your hands were shaking as you positioned that damn pike. You lifted the skirt of the silk slip Eddie had demanded you wear every night. You hoped what you were about to do to that monster's future child would fucking kill you too.

The door burst open. The lock had broken. Eddie grabbed your arm tightly, so tightly that you let out a scream of pain, momentarily breaking out of your cloudy haze. He wrenched the metal bar from your hand. It took him maybe half a second to piece together what you had been attempting. His body didn't quite catch up in time. Eddie still raised it, ready to bring it down upon you until you were bleeding from everywhere and begging for mercy, for him. You threw up your arms over your head, sobs already beginning to rack your body.

There was the sound of metal hitting tile floor. Eddie suddenly pulled you close. His lips were against your cheeks, your lips, your nose, your head. 

_What the fuck?_

Although he suddenly seemed ecstatic, you could still sense his rage lurking beneath his facade. Nervousness still choked you tightly and made your heart beat rapidly in your chest as tears rolled down your face. You looked up into the mirror to see Eddie's head nestled in the crook of your neck. One of his hands went to your stomach--the other stayed tightly on your arm. 

"Darling, you should have told me sooner," he murmured to you. He was...smiling? How was he not ready to fucking kill you for what you were about to do?

The fear didn't leave your eyes as you swallowed nervously. "Surprise," you uttered out weakly. 

"I'm not angry with you, darling," Eddie cooed to you. His lips pressed against your neck for a brief moment. His hand left your abdomen and crept up to where your jaw met your throat. He forced your chin up, his large, rough fingers tight all the sudden against your skin. His face stayed nuzzled there against you as he continued on. "It's alright to be frightened. You just don't understand being a mother quite yet." He kissed you again. "But you will. It'll kick in. It's only natural, darling. I'll keep you safe from yourself until you start gaining some womanly senses, okay?" 

You didn't nod. You didn't smile. You didn't indicate anything but that terrified, silent blankness. Eddie didn't notice. He never did.

"I love you so much, darling," he breathed to you, pulling you tighter in his arms.

* * *

It turned out that later on, a few weeks maybe, you didn't need the DIY abortion anyways. 

All you could remember was the sounds of your own screams and the stabbing, ripping pain before you went unconscious on the bathroom floor. Your world, thankfully, went black before you even got to see the blood pooling around you. It was probably the best form of sleep you'd gotten since you discovered you were with Eddie's child.

That was no longer inherently true when you woke up in the bed, tightly in Eddie's arms, fit soundly against his curved body. He rocked you back and forth gently as you gave a sudden and involuntary shudder. There was warm moisture dripping onto your shoulder, trailing down your collarbone. He was crying. Eddie was crying. You realized you were too as you became conscious of the sheer, icy pain thrumming through your body. Your thighs were still trembling. 

"W...What happened?" you stupidly asked, even though you already knew. 

"Our son."

You bit back a groan of pain as he changed positions. Eddie was holding you in his lap now, tightly, as if he was afraid you would suddenly drop dead too. His head was bowed as he only seemed to cry harder. 

"It's not your fault, darling. It's not your fault. We'll try again. As many times as it takes. We can still make it up." 

His thumb traced along your jawline as you stiffened in his grasp, your eyes widening.

_Again?_

Eddie kissed you softly on the lips.

_No. No. No. Oh my God. No. Please no. No. No. No._

He laid you gently back down upon the mattress, taking his place back from behind you. His arms did not move once from your body. He really did think you were going to slip away from him didn't he? His head once again found its way in the crook of your neck as he inhaled slowly taking you in completely. His tears had dried. But yours hadn't. The sheet grew wet with droplets he couldn't see. If he did, he would have ignored them anyways. 

_No. No. No. No. No. No..._


	3. seven yrs bad luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -heavily implied sexual abuse   
> -intense mental/emotional trauma   
> -untreated/worsening mental illness

Who were you without Eddie Gluskin?

This was the part where you were supposed to shoot down that thought. The part where everything you'd retrained yourself to think in those long months of therapy and tears would kick in. You tried. God knows you tried. But you always seemed to slip. More often than usual, nowadays. You knew what the therapists would say. 'Don't be too hard on yourself!' or 'It's just a long process, give it time'. But you were tired of giving it time. _He'd_ already taken months of your life away. And now he was creeping back into your thoughts to do it all again the longer you hung on for. 

Once again you'd found yourself staring glassy-eyed in the bathroom mirror. 

It'd maybe taken a few weeks once you were discharged from the psychiatric ward for the hallucinations to start to come back. It wasn't like you'd faked mental soundness to get discharged, either. You'd been in there for almost as long as _he'd_ held you captive in his house, in his bedroom. You'd thought you were fine too. That you'd finally be able to function again and rejoin society and leave all that _he'd_ done to you in the past. Your hands began to tremble on the counter. You didn't notice. 

The hallucinations were maybe the worst part of it all. It was beyond torture. It was like you'd escaped him, only to be shoved in a room with him that only you could see. You'd figured the months of therapy had worked it out of your mind. You'd figured you'd have repressed it by now. But no.

_Are they getting worse?_

You twitched violently, feeling a hot breath on your cheek. Your head jerked to the side and your own breathing quickened. Nothing there. Nothing there. Nothing there. The window was open. You slammed it shut, hard, before looking back up into the mirror. The dark circles under your eyes hadn't been getting any better. You still woke up screaming at nightmares you couldn't remember. But you knew _he_ was in every single one of them. 

The day before you'd felt the ghost of his fingers touching over your thighs beneath the sheets of your bed. Now you slept on just a mattress with a pillow. No more blankets. No more sheets. No more comforter that reminded you of his body crushing yours down, pinning you so you couldn't claw your way out from underneath him... It wasn't ideal on cold nights, no. But sometimes, you still laid awake at night, sleep deprived and uncomfortable. And you swore you could hear his voice. He was murmuring to you and you couldn't hear a word of what he was saying as you laid there, paralyzed upon the mattress. 

When you'd been able to move again, you bolted off that fucking bed and locked yourself in the bathroom where you proceeded to cry yourself to sleep in the empty bathtub. Sometimes when the nightmares were unavoidable and continuous, you turned cold water on while you laid in there, clothed, to make sure you didn't fall asleep. The sound of running water drowned him out. You'd keep it on at all times if you didn't have a water bill to pay. Still, it was getting more and more expensive with every passing month. 

The thought of going back to your therapist came to mind often. But you didn't want it. You didn't think you wanted it. Did you need it? Fuck yeah, you did. But it was all about what you wanted. The illusion of control in your life that you valued after not having it for so long--after it had been in the hands of a sick monster for seemingly endless days and nights. The idea of sitting and having to talk about him all over again might be too much to bare. You couldn't do it again. It was too difficult. You were causing your own problems and you fucking knew it. By not opening up you were only making this all so much worse and so much harder on yourself. You were terrified. Terrified of actually going off the fucking rails--for good this time. You'd already been told so many times about how strong you were for being able to make a comeback after all you'd been through; physically, mentally, emotionally, and sexually. 

But they were wrong. 

There were days when all you could do was lay on the bed, trapped between wanting to keep your eyes shut and wide open at the same time. If you shut them you'd see him. If you opened them you were afraid you'd still see him. During the times when you did drag yourself up and finally shower, you did it all in the pitch black dark. You couldn't look at your body. It hadn't recovered after what he'd done to you. The starvation he'd forced you through in order to fit his ideals had marked your ribs clearly and obviously. You didn't want to see it. You didn't want to see it and think of what he'd done to it with his hands, with his body...

Sometimes in between the brief moments of the bathroom light turning from on to off, you caught glimpses of his shadow, his terrifying silhouette. The first few times you'd flicked the lights back on, tears gathering at your eyes as a hand went to your mouth. But he wasn't there. He wasn't there. He wasn't there. It'd taken you a long time to turn off the lights and leave them off. You learned to keep your eyes shut while you were doing it so you couldn't see him in between the shift. 

But it was all becoming too much. 

You let your head drop momentarily and shut your eyes. When you opened them you saw him. He was behind you, towering over you. Were his hands going towards your hips? What the fuck was he doing? How did he get here? Once again you could hear his voice. No words. 

"Stay the **fuck** away!" 

Without even thinking twice, you hurled yourself into the bathroom mirror. From there, it was like all your common sense was gone. It was like you'd been reverted back to the way you were when the police had finally dragged you from his hell house. Your fists beat against the mirror. Your knuckles became bloody and warm but you could feel no pain. Only adrenaline. Broken down to nothing once again. You wouldn't stop. You couldn't stop. You were still screaming something, but now you couldn't even hear your own words. He was gone but your still smashed your hands against the mirror. 

It made the most horrible sounding crack and shattered under your relentless, open, desperate palms. 

When had you started crying and sobbing? 

You didn't know as you sank to the floor, slowly, shaking harder than you had in months. Ragged breaths left your slightly opened mouth.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Your hands were starting to finally burn. Blood was dripping from them. Onto the bathroom floor. Pooling. You had to look away and up at the ceiling, clenching your teeth together and breathing hard. Your brows nodded and you squeezed your eyes tightly. They hurt so bad as you laid there, back against the cabinets. The back of your head hit the wooden surface again as you readjusted your position. You held your hands up, slowly unclenching them without even looking down at them. The cool air stung them. Your palms were up for a God that didn't really exist to you anymore. 

Somewhere, sometime ago you'd heard that it was seven years bad luck to break a mirror.

But you didn't care--you didn't even look at the glass shards glittering in your palms. 

Seven years bad luck was nothing, absolutely goddamn fucking nothing compared to what you'd gone through in those few months that felt like only yesterday.


	4. home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -emotional manipulation

You slammed the door shut, forcing your weight against it. You fit the key into the hole with some difficulty, trying to work through the trembling of your hands. You managed to twist it and lock the door from the inside just in time. A cry of fear escaped you as Eddie threw his weight against the door from the other side and you jumped away, dropping the rusted key onto the ground.

”I know you’re in there, darling!” He screamed out. His fists pounded against the wood of the door. It creaked unhappily under the additional weight. 

Almost just for the purpose of having something in your hands to fidget with, you reached out and grabbed the key again, turning it to and fro in your anxious, shaking hands. You kept accidentally dropping it and each time seemed louder than the last, piercing the static in your ears. 

Eddie’s head was pressed against the door, his nose up to the wood. He could hear his own heavy, ragged breaths. Through the cracks in the wood he could spy the mass of your body, close by. He drew a tongue over his chapped, torn lips. Slowly, his hands relaxed, falling away from fists sporting splintered knuckles. All the spaces of light filtering around your dark form vanished as your body cane closer, filling up Eddie’s view. Slowly, your weight pressed up against your side of the door. A shaking sigh escaped your own lips.

Oh how Eddie desired to throw his weight upon the door once more, twice more, thrice more and so on. But he held back. He bit the inside of his cheek, the cogs in his fucked mind turning before his rich, full voice, so deceiving, curled from his throat. He could hear you shuffling around in there. Just inches from him. The closest he'd been to you yet. So close, yet so far... He took in a breath, steadying himself. 

”I want to marry you,” Eddie told you through the door. “I want to marry you so that you’ll be safe and happy. With me. We’ll be wonderful. Don't you see, darling? I love you...”

You didn't know what happened then and there. Maybe it was all this time spent in a dim asylum where nothing had spoken to you like this before. Where all you did was turn corners, running from beasts of men that howled and growled and snarled at you, calling you 'whore' and 'little pig'. Maybe it was his promises. But something in you snapped. It truly did. Like the bridge between fantasy and reality had collapsed and now you didn't know what to believe and what you didn't. All you knew was what was appealing, what you'd might find pleasurable. What you wouldn't. You couldn't take running anymore. And you gave into the lie, the temptation.

Slowly, you stood up. He heard you. He could hear your own soft breaths through the door, enough to drive him fucking crazy. But he kept his mouth shut. He would be patient, just for you, just for another few moments. Excitement thrummed in his chest. 

And you opened the door.

“This is for your own good, darling,” he had told you, taking your chin between his index and thumb. “God forbid you hurt yourself...”

You jerked your hands faintly, which you had already lost the feeling in long ago. The rope had been tied so tightly around your hands and the beam above your head you couldn’t even slide the knot along the smooth metal. That didn’t stop you from jerking and thrashing harder. Harsh breaths ravaged your thinning frame.

After Eddie had gotten his hands on you again, he wasted no time locking you up. That had been his mistake the first time, he was sure. Not securing his precious wife. He'd underestimated you, and he wasn't going to do it again. Oh how the confusion in your eyes had broken his yearning heart when he had first began to tie your hands together over the pipe. He did his best to make in comfortable, even ripped some fabric from his own waistcoat to cushion the pipe. Heaven forbid he bruised your delicate wrists. He'd even went out of his way to find the remainder of some moth-eaten bed sheets and throw them over you. Eddie wanted you to be as comfortable as you could be--without the possibility of escaping him in anyway ever again. 

Now...your mistake had been letting yourself be weak and trusting in that one moment. That one broken moment. You should have stayed locked behind the fucking door. You shouldn't have given in. Being so trusting was what had gotten you firmly in his grasp the first time you'd encountered him. Your mistake had been letting him worm his way into your head and deceive you all over again. Letting him take advantage of your exhaustion...

Your head hung as tears fell from your eyes. He'd tied your hands up around that pipe, but had the good sense not to bind you standing up. He'd been merciful enough to let most of your body slump onto the cold, hard floor. Ugh. You hated yourself for considering such an act as "merciful". 

How could you have been so fucking stupid? How could you have been so fucking weak? 

“I’m gonna make an honest woman out of you, darling,” Eddie Gluskin told you, as he kneeled down to get closer to you, his hand cupping your cheek, his fingers caressing over your skin. His rough digits traced among your jaw before he grabbed it and lifted your head slowly. He pressed a kiss to your lips. "I want to see my wife smile...come on, darling...smile for me?"

"I want to go home," were the only, trembling words that escaped you. They turned into a whine as you began to cry harder. "I wanna go home..."

Eddie let out a bit of sigh. He stroked his thumb over your soft skin, looking at you through those bloodshot, cold eyes of his. The tears in your eyes blurred his scarred face. He spoke again, his voice soft, all around you.

"Oh but darling, you're already there.."


End file.
